


a new hero

by HelgaHufflepunk



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Gen, Originally Posted on Tumblr, SO, SO BASICALLY THIS IS JUST A 'WHAT-IF' IN THE BROTHERS AU, WHERE HAWKMOTH/GABRIEL DIES AND FELIX BECOMES THE NEXT BUTTERFLY HOLDER, that's a thing, yep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-03 23:05:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6630670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelgaHufflepunk/pseuds/HelgaHufflepunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adrien had cried - at the memorial, after giving his speech. At the house when they heard the news. For the weeks in between.</p><p>Félix hadn’t.</p><p>Even now, the older Agreste son could hear his brother sniffling on the other side of the car. He wonders if he should try to console him, and then dismisses the thought. What is there to say? Don’t be sad, our father was a dick anyway?</p><p>Adrien lets out a muffled sob, and Félix pretends not to hear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a new hero

**Author's Note:**

> the félix-is-the-butterfly-holder au that nobody asked for but i decided they needed anyway.

It doesn’t rain the day of Gabriel Agreste’s funeral.

In movies, it always rains the day the main character’s parent dies. It opens with a lonely kid standing, stoic, by the grave, the very image of the death of one’s childhood, of miserable strength in the face of miserable odds. The very image of his life for the past five years. 

(For longer than that.)

Félix smiles grimly at the thought, pressing his forehead against the chilled glass of the window. 

Of course Gabriel Agreste would never have some cliché, ordinary-person's funeral. There had been no rain, no graveyard, no pitying onlookers. Really, it hadn’t been as much a _funeral_ as it was a _memorial -_ the man had been cremated, after all, so it wasn’t as if there was anything to necessarily bury. There had been champagne, a few people stepping up to the podium and lying about what a great man Gabriel was, a slideshow in the next room about all of his accomplishments, just like any of the thousands of Agreste-brand parties he'd attended over the years.

Nathalie had sat next to him in the front row, face impassive, Adrien on her other side, his green eyes puffy and his expression a careful kind of broken. She did not move once, and neither did Félix.

Adrien had cried - at the memorial, after giving his speech. At the house when they heard the news. For the weeks in between.

Félix hadn’t.

Even now, the older Agreste son could hear his brother sniffling on the other side of the car. He wonders if he should try to console him, and then dismisses the thought. What is there to say? _Don’t be sad, our father was a dick anyway?_

Adrien lets out a muffled sob, and Félix pretends not to hear.

* * *

He has his father’s eyes, and he can't help but wonder if Adrien feels this haunted when he looks into the mirror and sees their mother looking back at him.

He smiles thinly.

Probably not.

* * *

He finds the box a week after the funeral, and something in the pit of his stomach tells him not to open it.

(He’d had this feeling before - when the phone rang a month ago, some officer calling to tell him that he’s an orphan now. When he woke up one morning and his father was standing in the doorway, disheveled, looking like he’d lost the entire world.) 

 _(Whatever is about to happen is going to change your life,_ something inside of him whispers, tense, as he picks up the phone, as he looks up into his father’s grey eyes.)

He picks it up, slowly. Runs a finger over the lid.

(Whatever is inside this box will change his life, and a small part of him wants to ignore it - wants to hide it in the back of his closet and be done with it, because he's had enough changes to last him a lifetime. And he can. Nobody would know. Nobody would blame him.)

He pushes it open, and out comes a light.

“Félix,” the creature breathes once the glow dies down, violet eyes wide and sad as they fall on him.

He stares for a long moment, unsure what to do. “What are you?” he asks, bluntly, and then, as an afterthought: “And how do you know my name?”

“I’m a kwami,” he explains. “My name is Nooroo. I…” He pushes his arms together, uncertain, trying to think of an explanation. “Have you heard of Hawkmoth? Maybe?”

“I’m afraid not,” the boy responds, dryly, and Nooroo sighs.

“He’s the man behind all of the akuma attacks,” the kwami starts, and then stops, suddenly. “Akumas are the, um. Reason people get turned into monsters sometimes. He used my power to transform into Hawkmoth and terrorize the city in an effort to get Ladybug and Chat Noir’s miraculouses, which are magical jewelry that can be used to give people magical powers. Like this one!”

Nooroo floats down over the box, and he notices, for the first time, a brooch sitting in the padding of the box.

“This is my miraculous,” Nooroo says. “The butterfly miraculous. I’m here because, well…it’s yours now. If you want it.”

“What happened to the other Hawkmoth?” he asks. “Won’t he be wanting it back?”

Nooroo blinks, flitting around hesitantly. “You asked me how I know your name,” he blurts, suddenly.

Félix raises an eyebrow. “Yes?” he responds, easily, and Nooroo sighs.

“Hawkmoth...um. Hawkmoth was your father.”

 _Of course he was,_ he thinks.  _Because only Gabriel Agreste would manage to keep screwing his children over from beyond the grave._

“Sorry to disappoint, but I don’t actually _want_  to be a supervillain,” he informs the kwami, nose wrinkled in disdain. “I’m not my father.”

“No, I understand!” Nooroo rushes to say, holding out his little purple limbs pleadingly. “The butterfly miraculous is meant to make _other_ people superheroes. It’s supposed to make champions.”

Félix pauses. “And my father made villains instead?”

Nooroo winces. “Yes,” he admits. “He was my holder - my master - so I…couldn’t really do anything about it. He misused the miraculous, which led to Ladybug and Chat Noir being summoned, and now…you.”

“Me?” he asks, incredulously. “What do I have to do with any of this?”

“You were Chosen,” the kwami explains, regretfully. “To be the next butterfly holder. Ladybug and Chat Noir…they're in great need of a Champion right now.”

“But my father is dead,” he argues. “The threat is over.”

Nooroo shakes his head. “Your father wasn’t the only villain in the world, Félix.”

The teenager stares for a long moment, and then:

“I’m no hero.”

The kwami smiles, wide, like he's won some kind of award. 

“Not _yet_ ,” he corrects, gently, hovering over the box once more.

Félix rolls his eyes, thin lips twisting up into the smallest of smiles, and Nooroo beams.

* * *

“Hello. My name is _Nuit Papillon._ Will you be my champion?”

**Author's Note:**

> we l p this #sucked  
> oh well  
> what can u do


End file.
